The Ring
by Fyrie
Summary: An all out battle between the Slayers and the Scourge of Europe. With a twist...


"And what have we got tonight, Xan

"And what have we got tonight, Xan?"

Pressing his fingers to the earpiece in his right ear, the brunette yelled back into the microphone. "What have we got, G-Man? What have we got? We've got a stadium of screaming fans and no sign of...wait a minute..." There was a blatantly fake gasp of astonishment. "Who the hell is that?"

"Good Lord...it looks like....yes, it is!" On his feet, his voice echoing through the sound system, Giles bellowed. "It's Angelus!"

The crowd went wild, some booing, some cheering, some female and not-so-straight males swooning in the aisles.

The dark vampire stopped at the top of the runway, his hands on his leather-clad hips, struck a pose. The pounding beat of the music rose in volume to match the screams and cheers and waving-of-banners.

Thrusting out his barrel-like chest, he strode down the runway, sneering left, right and centre, leather pants squeaking with each step. His bared, muscled arms swung by his side, his cerise lycra top almost laughable. It was only prevented from being so by the abundance of fangs that appeared in said-evil-sneer.

Grabbing an audience member on the way down the aisle, he snapped their neck. His fans went wild with delight. "I never get tired of doing that!" He yelled through a microphone that had miraculously appeared in his hand, thanks to the quick-thinking prop-handler.

Again, his fans started screeching madly.

Nearing the ring, he jumped easily over the top cable, landed on the canvas with a solid thump in front of the referee, in the form of Quentin Travers in an oh-so-screaming-'Hit me please cos I look like a clown'-striped-shirt. The target painted in red on his chest just added to the effect.

Although his lines were being held up on a cue card, the wibbling Travers took one look at the centuries old vampire who was leering at him, recalled that, although on paper his contract said he was safe, these were not controlled circumstances and promptly had a heart attack.

"Omigod! This isn't in the scrip...er...omigod!" Xander screamed, on his feet beside Giles. "Travers is down! It looks like he's had a heart attack! What is Angelus going to do next?"

Angelus, oblivious to the attention, bent down and sank his fangs nonchalantly into Travers' throat, draining him dry.

"I said," Xander repeated, his voice increasing in volume and agitation. "What is Angelus going to do next?" The vampire shot a look at the brunette. In a stage whisper, Xander hissed. "It's your line, deadboy."

"Oh!" Grinning bloodily, Angelus straightened up and raised his hands above his head for silence. The sight of rippling biceps only induced the crowd into more of a frenzy and he shrugged helplessly, then yelled. "Shut the hell up!"

The screams grew louder.

"I'm here," He continued to shout, prowling the ring. "To see if there's anyone with the guts and the balls to challenge me." He paused, flexed his body, waited for someone to be on cue. "I haven't had a good fight in forever and I wanna..."

There was dazzling explosion of fireworks from the opposite ramp. Xander squealed like a pre-pubescent male. "Omigod! Who could this be? It's..." A figure on a suitably impressive Harley emerged from the cloud of machine-induced smoke. "Buffy Summers, Vampire Slayer!"

Striking a dramatic pose, her tiny body encased in a skin-tight lycra bodysuit that reduced the majority of the audience to wibbling wrecks - because its more than obvious that said sport is based a lot on the sexual exploitation of women - the Slayer lifted a microphone to her lips.

"You challenged, Angelus." She stated coolly, brushing 'natural' blonde hair back from her face. "And here I am. I'm going to remind you what its like to have your ass well and truly kicked back to Hell, where it belongs."

"Big words, Slayer."

Sotto voce, Giles leaned over and murmured to Xander. "Do those two ever stick to the scripts?" The brunette gave him a shrug.

"I'm not going to be the one to complain to them. I like my body as it is - in one piece."

Giles nodded in agreement, then picked up his lines. "What the hell is going on here, Xander? Where are Stone Cold and Degeneration X?"

His voice was cut off by the roar of Buffy's motorcycle roaring down to the ringside. 

"Looks like the Slayer has to resort to big, throbbing machines to keep her libido in control after that night with me." Angelus leered at her, peering at the greatly-reduced depth of her cleavage.

"Don't flatter yourself." Flipping over the side of the ring, she landed on one of the corner pilons with a flourish. Her fans started screaming, the banner-waving restarting with much cursing from those unfortunates trapped behind them. "You're goin' down Angelus!"

"On you? C'mon, lover. You know my taste doesn't run in the direction of bitches." He managed to get himself struck with a flying kick across the jaw. "Ow!"

Pinning him down, Buffy bent close and whispered urgently. "You're meant to be acting tough, baby. That didn't hurt. Act, remember. Act."

"But it hurt." He whimpered, voice too low for the screeching fans to hear. He tossed her off his back, tackled her and grabbed her in a head lock.

"Sorry." She hissed, then proceeded with the fight routine they had been practising for a month and a half to get perfect and impressive.

And it was all going very well until the was a high-pitched shriek of fury. Both Slayer and vampire jerked their heads in the direction of the voice. "Oh shit." Angelus groaned, relieved that Buffy was doing the banging-of-head-on-canvas for him.

"You're hurting my bad daddy!" The wild-eyed vampiress flew down the ramp, silks and furs flaring around her as she ran. "The moon screamed of daddy's pain..." She paused, frowned and added. "And the fan people were yelling for the bad Slayer to kill daddy."

"I thought you said she was in the padded room." Buffy grunted, jerking a stake out of a hidden recess of her body and pressing it to Angelus' body. "A step closer and your sweet daddy is dust, Dru."

"Omigod!" Xander's voice had reached an octave that most people weren't even aware existed. "Its the Scourge of Europe verses the Slayer! What the hell is going on, G?" He waited for a response. "Uh...G? What are you doing?"

The Englishman glared at him. "I'm writing a letter of resignation." He stated. "I'm a Shakespearean actor for God's sake! I can't work with such...such amateurs!" Tossing the trademarked scarf of a Shakespearean actor over his shoulder, the Englishman stormed away in an impressive fit of pique, knocking a startled peroxide blonde vampire of his feet as he exited the stadium.

"Looks like Slayer and Watchers are buggered." Picking himself off the floor, the blonde leered at the Slayer who seemed to have becoming attached to Angelus' back.

"Guess again, goldielocks." The voice from behind made him spin, a fist connecting with his nose and knocking him back down. "Yo, B!" 

Blinking in protest, Spike managed to spit out the words. "Hey! No going into the ring unless she tags you first!"

Faith smirked. "We're not in the ring, baby. And since when has three against one been fair odds, huh?" Clad in a skimpy leather bikini, the newly-arrived Slayer used her figure to distract the vampire and started pummeling him ruthlessly, but in a way that would leave no marks or hurt or nothing. Impressive really.

Xander was staring frantically at the vacant seat next to him, then at the two Slayers and three vampires. "The script! The script! Why won't anyone just stick to the script?"

"Cos the nasty, sweet-smelling Slayer is going to kill my bad daddy." Drusilla sniffed importantly, folding slender hands over her chest. "I'm going to stop her and kill her and dance in the fountain of her life."

"Poetic much?" Another brunette slid into the vacant seat next to Xander. "Looks like you were useless on your own, again, Zeppo." She turned her attention to the dark-haired vampiress. "And you, don't you know this is all an act?"

"Playacting?"

"Duh!"

"Uh...Cordy," Xander's hand on her wrist caught her attention. "Iksnay on the Vealingrey!"

The former cheerleader blinked at him. "What's your trauma, doofus? Its not like the people here don't know its all rigged. They know its all fake."

There was a silence from their audience that lasted a moment, then the shrieking started anew with the arrival of a new figure. Silhouetted by the spotlights at the top of Buffy's ramp, the girl stood, hands on hips.

"Just read the script." Xander glared at Cordelia who was delicately attempting to paint her nails. "Oh my God! Who could this be?"

The brunette arched a neat brow. "Looks like Kendra."

"Cordy? Script? Please?"

She blinked, then turned to the cue cards. "Right...er....where are we?" She followed her companion's finger. "Good Lord! Do I have to say that? I mean 'Good Lord' is more a Gilesy thing to say...okay, okay! Stressed much? Could this be another Slayer? Well, duh! I told you that before, but no. You wanted me to read the cuecards."

"Just shut up."

The new arrival waited until the full announcement had been done, then stalked down the ramp, pausing to dab at the still-bleeding cut on her neck. Raising her head proudly, she stared at Drusilla. "I am Kendra, di Vampuyer Slayer."

"I know." The vampiress stared back, boredly. "I killed you, remember?"

"And I never got to kick your ass for that."

"Um...Kendra...accent?" Arm still around Angelus' neck, hand pressing a stake to his chest, the blonde Slayer glanced at her counterpart. "You're meant to be Jamaican, remember?"

Leaping into the ring, a brief glance cast in the direction of the twitching form of Spike who was being 'pummeled' by Faith, she shook her head. "Not with that God-awful accent I wasn't. Every TV show needs to have a figure with a mockable accent."

"You think I didn't do a good enough job at that?" Drusilla prowled towards the Slayer, eyes alighting on the open wound on her neck. "Puh-lease. I'm the queen of the bizarre accent. My sweet comes in a close second."

"Don't be bloody ridiculous, Dru! I sound less bloody English than you." He paused, blocked a punch from Faith. "And how in the hell are there three bloody Slayers?"

"Cos it said in the script?" Buffy seemed more interested in sniffing at Angelus' cologne than doing the dusty with the stake. "Stop squirming." She murmured in the dark vampire's ear. "Or I show the world what you're hiding down the front of your leotard."

"You wouldn't!" Brown-gold eyes widened in horror.

"You mean the pair of socks daddy uses to increase his sex appeal?" Drusilla was stil circling her semi-but-not-quite-dead Slayer victim. Her Sire wailed in despair. "Oh, sorry, daddy." She smirked. "I know big, bad vampires are meant to have big, bad bits...but you don't. Little, timid bits..." She balled her hand in a fist, raising the pinkie and letting it droop suggestively.

Angelus whimpered and threw himself forward on the stake. The oldest vampire in the ring exploded in a cloud of dust. Drusilla pursed her lips in annoyance. Buffy blinked at Mister Pointy in surprise.

"That wasn't in the script." Cordelia noted.

"Duh!" Xander's wide-eyed manic look was growing more demented with ever passing second. "We've just lost one of the World Vampires and Slayers Wrestling Federation's stars! And it was suicide too! The tabloids are going to have a party with that!"

"A party?" Faith smirked. "Sounds good to me." The walking, talking slut bomb leered down at her vampire opponent. True, she had been assigned to fight him by the luck of the draw – or the script, depending on perspective, but he was something.

Yeah, undead, but undead hottie was different. Plus he was wearing that wicked cool leather jacket, instead of the pink leotard with gold spangles that he was meant to be wearing. She liked that in a man. Rebellion against the wardrobe department took nerves of steel.

"Um...are we actually gonna finish this?" While Faith seemed more interested in eyeing the beefcake at her feet, Drusilla and Kendra both looked bored and Buffy was kneeling, brushing Angelus' ashes into a little heap, forming a dust-castle.

"I give up." Xander wailed, banging his head on the table.

"Do you mind? I'm trying to do my nails and you're making the table jump."

The brunette lifted his head wearily, blinked at her. "Okay." He looked to the ring, where Drusilla and Kendra were still circling, more out of habit than a fight purpose. "I say we cancel or at least get the half-dressed hotties in for a bikini contest."

"You mean we don't get to have a bitch fight and pull each others hair as well as ripping our clothes off?" Kendra pouted. Drusilla leapt at her and wrapped her arms around the girl. "What the fu...?"

"We can do that anyway, sweet." Drusilla murmured. Xander's eyes bulged in their sockets as Slayer and Vampiress decided to show the world just how kinky wrestling could be. All they needed now was the mud to make it super-special.

Just as Kendra and Drusilla's clothing started to be dispatched, Buffy was pulled into the fray and Willow and Tara appeared at the ringside, cheering, before clambering into the ring and joining in with the...whatever it was that was going on.

Then a buzzer started to ring.

*

Xander jerked upright with a gasp, slaped a hand down on his alarm clock.

On the TV, the Summer Smackdown was still ongoing. Music was pounding, lights were flashing...or was that wrestlers pounding and women flashing? He shook his head, the images from his dream dancing behind his eyelids.

"That's it." He vowed, fumbling with the remote, searching for the off-switch. The TV blinked off and he pulled the blanket hastily over his head. "I'm never going to watch the wrestling before I go to bed again."


End file.
